Broken Peace
by Corralero
Summary: Broken and battered by war, a young soldier finds fleeting sanctuary. An exchange in the silence, between the broken and what waits, witnessed by a lone priest. A world broken by war can only afford a broken peace...


**A/N: **I guess this can be seen in connection to _Dickensian Streets _for those of you who fancied a more hopeful ending, but I have to admit this was written seperately and probably before, so there is only one small reference to _DS. _Also please be aware that this is written from a religious perspective - please feel free to ask me any questions on that account, politely worded would be appreciated :) Finally, I would love to hear any critique on the writing style, not just the content, so do let me know what you think! Please enjoy...

**Broken Peace**

_You cut my hair and I watched it fall to the ground,_

_I felt no pain._

_Can it be like that with my heart?_

_Next time I feel broken, or I feel like nothing at all,_

_I'm here, I'm here to stay, if that's ok?_

How he had come to be here, no one could have said. He had wandered the streets, moving with a restless, stressful stride, round and round, up and down. And now he was here, a slim, strong figure, a black silhouette of deeds and sins that no one else would do, grasping a braid of unravelling meaning and motivation. A young tired face, weary and searching painfully…he had wandered for hours, journeyed for years and been lost for a lifetime and was finally too tired…he had been pacing the church, round the isles, into the corners, looking at the layout of exits and entries.

They had worried at him in the vestry as he had dispensed of his robes.

'But, Father, what if he takes something?'

But he did not fear that. The youth had respected or feared the heart of the church, steering clear of the altar and sanctuary as animals shy from danger. Yet when the time came for him to meet there, the priest knew it would be well. All else was nothing…what else did a church have of greater value? So he gently ushered the clucking women out.

He had entered quietly, slipping in like a shadow, like a thief, standing at the back as the priest continued the mass, and tried not to look like a threat. Still the old ladies had looked at him suspiciously, their age-stooped backs stiffening, their lips compressing in discomfort.

Finally they had left and their condemning memory faded from the stones. He paced. He couldn't help it, as the stress and toll ate at him. Slowly, the silence fell upon him as exhaustion sank in. He slumped against a pillar, sliding down to the cold tile floor.

He wanted to help him, but the boy was clearly not Polish. He watched him look blankly at the familiar characters, heard him whisper an unfamiliar word, _sorry._ He closed his eyes in silent frustration and began to pray for the young solider.

The restlessness was still there, the uneasiness. He knew the priest was somewhere around. They were going to throw him out. He pushed himself further into the pillar and pew, pushing his head into his hands, frustration simmering away in him, boiling down into exhausted desperation.

_Oh, God. _He shouldn't be here.

_Murderer…whore…terrorist…_

He forced himself up, ready to move on and paused as the priest appeared in front of him. They looked at one another warily. Two strangers peering out from across a void.

'Welcome…home…stay.'

The words were heavily accented and clumsily worded. A blanket was pushed into his hands and a hand laid gently on his head in blessing, despite his flinch. He sank back, his escape route taken, and faced the challenge hanging in the silence.

He sat, wrapped in the blanket, and leant his head back, staring up at the ornate ceiling, glinting with stars strewn in a blue net. Space seen from Earth, seen from the past.

_Terrorist…idiot…street trash…failure…_

He swallowed.

Something was waiting, sitting, listening.

He had been searching, clawing through the fog, reaching and failing.

It was still waiting.

He sighed.

_Please…_

Tentative.

_Please…_

Reluctant almost.

_Hear me._

_I can't, I can't, I can't…_

A torrent, a flood of begging, sobbing, crying out in the ragged noise of his own head, showing past the gundamian walls of skin in one gasping breath. But it was the noise, the white noise, that blocked out the terrifying silence that rose up like a tidal wave above him, yet would never hit him, never touch him, unless he allowed it. Trusted it…how could someone like him ever trust?

Yet that was what was required of him. And even as the question was asked the answer came…he trusted all the time, in his Gundam, his gun to fire, his suit to keep out the deadliness of space, his comrades to be there, to fight with him, to live with him. He had to trust himself to have the strength, the courage, the resourcefulness to go on. His breath hitched as feelings overwhelmed him once more. He tore his mind free with an effort, wrenching it away and forced himself to stay, dared himself to stay, to come here with a priest's welcome and blood on his knife.

He was still here.

And it was still waiting.

The silence stretched out, patient, eternal. Waiting, on the other side of the invisible line.

_I'm…_

One word….It didn't vanish…

_I'm here, an'… _

Half-formed, forehead creasing…It was still waiting, listening carefully…

_here ta stay, if…_faltering, lip bitten…_if tha' ok?_

_It _came bounding, running, sweeping the slender solider up, like a brother, father, a jubilant captain, wrapping him up, holding him close, and whispering to his soul.

The church was empty, silent and dark. Nothing was said, and nothing was heard. The tabernacle stood in the centre and in the shadow of the pews a figure sat, sunk deep in peace.

Eventually, the call went through him. The nudges to stand and fight, stand and protect…and weariness assailed him, futility drowned him. So many and so much. The crushing weight of his task sat on his shoulders.

'Duo.'

A hand rested on his shoulders, carefully placed after the warning name. Heero stood there, his intense eyes fixed on the tabernacle. The weight of his task was suddenly shared, not once but…

'It is time to go. The others are here.'

Four times.

That comforting presence stroked at his mind, pushing him on. He stood, body relaxed once more.

'Thanks.'

It was whispered, but heard.

Carefully, he folded the blanket, leaving it on the front-most pew, and ducked his head awkwardly as he crossed himself, never seeing Heero's small nod of respect in the same direction. The two walked in silence to the entrance and halted by the offering plate. Before fumbling could bring up nothing, footsteps approached and a quiet hand covered the plate. A blessing pressed on one head and then another, tracing crosses on each forehead, and then the doors were flung open wide, sending sunlight exploding in, to rush into every corner of the old church.

His friend's sudden laughter sprung to life and Heero smiled to hear it again as they stood on the steps, basking in the warmth. It was time to move.

With a turn and nod of his head, the priest waved them on as they disappeared into the town once more, watching as they were joined by three more figures just as they were lost from view. Stooping down, he picked up the daily newspaper which had been dropped by the church door to read the latest news, smiling broadly at the headline, as hope sprung eternal:

COMMUNICATIONS BASE DESTRUCTION: OZ FAILS ONCE MORE

**The End**


End file.
